


You Shouldn't Kiss Me Like That

by badboy_fangirl



Series: Incidents in the Life of Lincoln Burrows [1]
Category: Prison Break
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-09
Updated: 2017-04-09
Packaged: 2018-10-16 16:46:25
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,713
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10575390
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/badboy_fangirl/pseuds/badboy_fangirl
Summary: Veronica Donovan has got one boy on the brain, and that boy is a man named Lincoln Burrows.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Once upon a time I lost myself in the world of Lincoln and Veronica. I wrote so many words about them, creating a history for them and loving them so deeply that I was mortally wounded by the events of 2x01 Manhunt. It became a series of stories that eventually topped out at 10 or more? I'm unsure at this point and will be uploading them as I can.

Two weeks before her 17th birthday, Veronica Donovan made a decision. Lincoln Burrows was going to notice her, as a woman. Sickened by Michael's older brother (older by only three and a half years) looking at her like she was a kid, she made up her mind that it was about to change. It was one thing to see Michael that way; Michael _was_ a kid. He was six months younger than Veronica, and everybody knew that boys didn't mature as quickly as girls.

  
And Veronica was mature. And ready for Lincoln to look at her _that_ way. The way she'd seen him look at a few other women, when he didn't know she was watching him. She had tried to make it abundantly clear that she was only friends with Michael, but Lincoln was all the time cracking jokes to Michael like, "Well, okay, if that's what your _girlfriend_ wants."  
  
"Why don't you tell him I'm not your girlfriend?" she'd asked just the day before. She reached over and wiggled his leg with her hand as Michael lay with his head at the opposite end of the bed from her. He was reading a book for English class, and she was studying for an Algebra test.  
  
He glanced up from the book. "I have told him. He doesn't listen. I even told him about that girl, Katie, that I asked to the Halloween party, and he goes, 'How's your girlfriend gonna like you going with some other chick?' I'm like, 'Linc, Veronica's not my girlfriend,' and he's like, 'Yeah, right.' I think he thinks we're in denial or something." Michael's piercing blue eyes met Veronica's steadily over the length of the twin bed they were both laying on. "I'm not in denial. You're...like the sister I never had. Sorry."  
  
"Fine by me," Veronica quickly responded. "I like someone, anyway."  
  
"Who?"  
  
"I'm not telling. Not till I've told him."  
  
There was a knock at the door, causing them both to jump, but Lincoln entered the room before either of them could shout out an okay. "What're you two up to? Pretending to do homework again? You know, I'm not stupid. I know what's goin' on here." His voice was upbeat, and Veronica got the impression that he wouldn't mind at all if he'd caught them doing something.  
  
Her eyes absorbed everything about him as a flash of heat consumed her body. Lincoln was beautiful. He stood in the doorway, his right arm propped up against the doorjamb. He wore a white wifebeater and torn, faded blue jeans that molded to his thighs like...Veronica didn't even know what. All she knew was looking at him made her heart pound, her mouth water and her legs feel like rubber should she try to stand on them. If she didn't do something about it soon, she was going to die of unrequited love. His hair was a little long, as if it needed a trim, curling around his ears and touching the back of his neck in a messy, hands-through-it sort of way that had her running her tongue over her lips in an unconscious imagining of tasting him. Everything about him made her feel alive, and it was killing her that he thought she was interested in his brother.  
  
"Come on, Mike, we gotta go." He was there to pick Michael up, like he did every day on his way home from work. His eyes lingered on Veronica, and she tried to think of something to say to dismiss the remarks he'd already made about them, but then it suddenly occurred to her: what did she expect when she was lying on her bed, in her house alone, with one boy when she really wanted the other boy? _The man_. She wanted the man, and she had to get him to see her as a woman. That was part of the problem. The rest of it was her own doing. Lincoln could never guess how she felt when all her outward actions led him to believe something else.  
  
As Michael gathered up his schoolbooks and stuffed them into his backpack, Veronica kept staring at Lincoln. She had, up until this moment, done everything to be friendly, kind, and helpful to Lincoln for years by being kind to Michael. But she hadn't made it clear she did all of it to help Lincoln out because she understood his desire to see Michael safe. His lips quirked in a smile as her gaze never wavered from his face. "See something you like, young 'un?" he joked.  
  
Veronica smiled, slowly, meaningfully and with a wink, replied, "Everything." She let her eyes dip down, traveling the length of his lean body. When she looked at his face again, she said, "I like everything I see."  
  
And that's when Lincoln Burrows knew he was in trouble.

 

 

 

 

  
Suddenly awakened by gunshots, Lincoln Burrows turned over on the cheap sofa he slept on and tried to go back to sleep. Gun fire was nothing new to their part of town, but it always woke him up, as if his body could never accept what his mind had: this was as good as it was ever going to be. Michael slept in the bedroom, in the back part of their ghetto apartment where there were no windows and all four walls were inside walls. Michael could sleep peacefully now, in this place, because Lincoln had made sure that as crappy a living environment as it was, there had to be a place where Michael could have quiet. He could spend time at Veronica's, but in the evenings, and at night, especially when Lincoln might have to go out, he needed a place where it was quiet. It was the first time, Michael said to him, since their mother died that he'd felt safe. And if Michael felt safe, Lincoln could do whatever he needed to do to provide for them. They'd been living there for almost five years.  
  
A siren wailed in the distance, so Lincoln knew somebody had called the cops. He had learned early that it was better to get outta Dodge than to linger somewhere even if you hadn't done anything. Circumstance was far more convincing than evidence. He flopped over on to his back so he could stare at the ceiling. He also knew more than gunshots were keeping him awake. He had a new and unavoidable problem that would land him jail quicker than you could say 'Statutory Rape.'  
  
Veronica Donovan.  
  
Damn, she was a hot little thing, and he could tell she wasn't the least bit interested in Michael. Her smoky eyes followed him wherever he went, and he'd be damned if the day before when he'd picked Michael up from her house if she hadn't come on to him. That was a new development, the look, the wink, the sexual provocation. That was the last thing he needed, having to ward her off.  
  
Ward her off? Holy hell, who was he kidding? The last thing he needed was her wanting the exact same thing his libido wanted. It involved the both of them, naked, in that little tiny bed in her bedroom, and he always finished that fantasy off with her father walking in and finding them. That's when the gunshots got really loud, because her old man always had a shot gun that put a 10 inch whole in Lincoln's chest, just for good measure. Just in case the hard-on caused from the first part of the fantasy was too difficult to discourage, he always imagined himself dead on the floor right after. Sure, he might have had the best sex of his life right before that, but did he really want to die because of it?  
  
Damn him if he wasn't exactly sure anymore.

 

 

 

 

  
Three days later, Lincoln stopped at Veronica's. It was nearly 6 o'clock, which was the normal time he got there everyday. When he walked in the house without knocking, it was out of habit, though the initial entry had been insolence. But that was years earlier, when Michael and Vee were little kids, and he could be rude and they thought it was cool. Of course, he was only like that because Veronica's dad wasn't home. He would never walk in without knocking when the old man was around. That was just asking for trouble.  
  
He headed down the hall towards the bedroom, which was where the kids usually were, but before he got there, the door right up from Veronica's bedroom opened and she walked out...wearing a bath towel. He stopped moving, glancing down at her, before abruptly raising his eyes back to the ceiling. Her bare shoulders had water droplets clinging lovingly to them, and he suddenly felt thirsty. "Oh! Lincoln!" she said, her hand flying up to cover her the area over heart.  
  
He kept his eyes on hers and moved right into joke mode. "You and Michael have to plan better than this, Vee," he held up his left arm, pointing at his watch. "I get here about the same time every day. That's plenty of time before that to fool around—"  
  
"Michael's not here," she said, her voice sharp. "And for the last time, Lincoln, Michael and I are _friends_. I'm not fooling around with your little brother."  
  
He smirked the denial away and asked, "Where is he?"  
  
"He had a lab to make up for bio or something. He had to stay after school to do it, and he said he told you he'd be home later."  
  
"He didn't tell me..." Lincoln paused. He had been known to not hear Michael when Michael told him something important, but he really couldn't remember anything about him having to stay after school. "Well, anyway, it's not a big deal. I'll just get out of here." He pointed a thumb over his shoulder to indicate he'd go out the way he'd come in, but in his determination to only look at her face, he noticed that she seemed near tears. "What's the matter, Vee?"  
  
"It really bugs me that you think Michael and I...are doing it. We're not. I wouldn't do that with Michael."  
  
He said a few swear words silently. This was the exact conversation they did not need to have. "Why the hell not?" he asked flippantly. "Michael's a good looking kid. You spend all of your time together—come on. I'm not your dad, sweetcakes, you don't have to convince me of anything."  
  
"I know you're not my dad, Lincoln," she said, her voice shaking. It took Lincoln a moment to realize she was flat out angry. His eyes slipped from her face when her fist knotted in the top of the towel, holding it closed. The small moment that the fabric slid against itself as she tugged it soundly to her body felt like an eternity. The drag of the terry cloth against those inviting curves made his own clothing feel too tight.  
  
He backed up from her, all ability to be suave vanishing. He turned around and made a beeline for the front door. He was almost there when he heard her right behind him. "Linc!"  
  
"I gotta go, just remembered—uh, something, I gotta..." his fingers wrapped around the doorknob and pulled, but she pushed her hand flat against the wood paneling, and though he could have won the struggle, he was afraid the towel would disintegrate under his eyes, because it was dipping lower now that she had run after him.  
  
Her eyes were dark with anger and some other emotion Lincoln wasn't comfortable at all with, so he ignored it. He almost preferred the tears that seemed to tremble on her lashes the moment before, but he could tell he'd pissed her off and chased the tears right away. "Before you leave, I want you to repeat after me, 'Veronica is not sleeping with Michael.' Go on, say it."  
  
He stared at her, feeling the odd urge to laugh, though he didn't find any of it funny. If she were Michael's girl, then all the lust surging in his loins wouldn't be enough for him ever to touch her. He was loyal, and loyalty came before lust any day of the week, at least where Lincoln came from. "Say it, Lincoln." Her voice was challenging, her eyes flashing with spark and indignation. "Say it right now."  
  
He hesitated, searching for a joke to make. There was no way out of the house, and out of temptation, other than to say what she wanted to hear. And strangely, it was what he wanted to hear as well, but he didn't know it until he mumbled, "Veronica isn't sleeping with Michael."  
  
She smiled, the light in her eyes changing from dark to light the way the earth brightens when the clouds clear off after a rain shower. "Thank you," she said softly, and leaning up, she kissed his face, right where the corner of his mouth met his cheek. Turning around, she sashayed back down the hall, leaving Lincoln standing there fighting the urge to chase after her. Jail bait, _jail bait!_ he thought furiously to himself, wrenching the door open and plunging back out into the cool fall day.

 

 

 

  
Veronica coaxed Michael into calling Lincoln. He should have picked Michael up at least an hour earlier, but hadn't shown up. She thought he might be hiding from her. "He won't want to come, I'm telling you," Michael said as he held the phone between his head and shoulder. Punching in his home phone number, he muttered, "He'll think it's dumb."  
  
"Just ask him, it can't hurt," she said, feeling this was really the hard part of the task she'd placed in front of herself. She knew that Lincoln had been made aware of her, the stunt in the towel the week before had worked like a charm. Every time she remembered his squirming discomfort, not to mention his flat out running to get away from her, she felt the thrill of victory. Men were easy, one of her girlfriends had said, just show them a little skin and they're putty in your hands. Since that day, Lincoln had not once teased her or Michael about being boyfriend/girlfriend, and he never lingered when he came by to pick up his brother. Sometimes they would stay for dinner, and that had happened almost once a week for as many weeks as Veronica could recall, but it had stopped. She flirted shamelessly with him every time he stepped in the house now, but he always smiled a stiff smile and ushered Michael out rapidly. She knew he was trying to make her think he didn't want to be there with her at all, but the opposite was true.  
  
Tomorrow was Halloween, and it just happened to be a Friday. Michael had plans to go to a party, and although Veronica hadn't been invited, she knew it would be no big deal to crash it. Matt Flemming threw a Halloween party every year, with a full on 'haunted house' that was legendary.  
  
"Veronica wants you to come, Linc," Michael was saying now, rolling his eyes when Veronica nodded her encouragement. "She says she's too scared to go through the Haunted House alone—" He stopped speaking, listening to a response from the other end of the phone. Veronica could hear Lincoln's voice, but not his words. Michael's face blanched and then he said, "Okay, sheesh. I didn't think you'd want to come, but you don't have get mad." There was another long pause. "Okay, yeah, I'll walk home, no big deal." He hung up the phone, shaking his head negatively. "He said no."  
  
Veronica's feelings were hurt, to say the least, but especially when Michael wouldn't tell her what Lincoln had said. "He said he has something else to do...and, that's all, Veronica. He was in a bad mood." Michael slumped onto the sofa, and started loading up his backpack, signaling his departure. They had stopped studying in her bedroom, but instead sat in the living room around the coffee table.  
  
"So he's making you walk home?" she demanded, sounding as if she too were in a bad mood.  
  
Michael's gaze flickered to her face and then he shrugged, "He was pissed. It's not so bad, I've got time before it gets really dark."  
  
"Why didn't he come here to get you like he usually does?" she asked angrily.  
  
"Said he forgot."  
  
"Forgot? Forgot something he's done every day for 6 years? What the hell?"  
  
"I'm outta here," Michael said, getting to his feet. "Everybody's crazy today." He walked out and Veronica ran to the door and shouted, "Call me when you get home, so I know you're okay!"  
  
He nodded and waved back at her, and then she ran to the phone and dialed the same number Michael had just called. "What the hell's your problem?" she yelled by way of introduction.  
  
Lincoln's voice came back sharply. "Look, little girl, I don't have time to—"  
  
"Little girl?" she shrieked, suddenly feeling every bit the child. She took a deep breath and attempted to speak like an adult. "You should get your ass over here and pick up your brother. He shouldn't have to walk home because you're afraid of me!"  
  
"I'm not afraid of you, Veronica," Lincoln's tone left no room for doubt. " _But_ I am tired of your little seduction routine. So, you're not sleeping with Michael, you're sure as freaking hell not sleeping with me! So cut the act. I'm not interested." The loud banging of the phone slamming down bounced off her eardrum, but didn't register for a few moments. When she returned the phone to the cradle, she felt the embarrassment of being so obvious along with the ache of humiliation.  
  
"I won't cry, I won't cry," she repeated, walking down the hall to her bedroom. She heard the neighbor's dog howling, a mournful sound, and she wondered if that was her heart breaking. 

 

 

 

  
Halloween dawned cold and bright. The bite in the air reminded everyone that Illinois winters were the worst. It would only get colder. But for this day, kids everywhere forgot about being cold, donned their costumes and went in search of candy. It was a great motivator.  
  
Lincoln, surlier than usual, left the house early that morning, went to his job at the construction site and worked like a man possessed all day. The last week had been hell on his nerves, and his fight with Veronica the night before had been the powder keg to it all. Every time he went to her house now, there were little looks, little touches, her purposefully finding ways to rub up against him, and it was driving him crazy. His only hope was to be mean to her, and it hadn't been all that hard since his frustration level was at an all time high. When she'd called, angry in her own right, he'd blown up without any theatrics. The sick thing about their fights was they were more of a turn-on than the time he spent with any other girls. Lately he'd been hanging out with a girl named Lisa Rix, who was pretty, free with her favors, and happy to keep herself totally separate from the rest of his life, which was exactly what he needed. He didn't want some woman who would become planted in his and Michael's lives. He didn't want Michael to count on anything just to be disappointed, and Lincoln knew there was no way he'd be with Lisa for a long-term relationship. He liked her, he liked what she did, but he didn't feel anything deep for her.  
  
Veronica pissed him off. She made him so mad that he couldn't see straight, and when the anger subsided, he was usually left hotter than hell with no chance of extinguishing the flame. She wasn't even 17 yet. She had no right to turn him inside out the way she did. She was too young. And he was too smart to get himself hooked up in something like that.  
  
The evening of Halloween was a good time for Lincoln to be out because he could make extra money without the cops bearing down on him; there was too much going on for them to know he wasn't handing out candy. He planted himself on his usual corner, waiting for some of the regulars he sold to, as well as new kids who might be looking for a little fun. He told himself weed wasn't so bad, he even smoked it sometimes, though never around Michael. He sold harder stuff from time to time, depending on the availability, but he had been cured of ever doing any of it regularly by the sweaty faced customers he'd encountered. He dabbled now and again, but he knew too much depended on him; Michael depended on him. And he made bank when he sold a little on the side, which if there was any chance of him sending Michael to college, he would need the extra money.  
  
He stood there for an hour before a familiar car approached. Leaning down to see a couple of guys he had sold to before, he gave a friendly smile. "Trick or treat," one of the guys said, his eyes a little glassy as if he'd already had a few.  
  
"I only give treats, but it'll cost ya," Lincoln said, resting his elbow on the door. "What are you guys up to tonight?"  
  
The driver leaned over to say, "We were just up at that haunted house, man. You should go, it's a trip."  
  
"Oh, yeah, I heard it'll scare the pants right off those girls up there," he laughed at his own joke.  
  
"That's what we're hoping, ain't we, honeys?" the guy said to the two girls in the back. Lincoln leaned a little further down, intending to send a charming smile to the girls in the back seat, but his smile dissipated when he saw someone he knew. Someone who didn't know what the hell she was doing with these two guys, or that Lincoln engaged in a little illegal activity when the need arose.  
  
Like a storm brewing on the horizon, Lincoln could feel a new and far more dangerous rage fill him. "Get out of the car," he said softly, and Veronica's wide eyes wavered from his face like she didn't know whom he was commanding. "Get out of the car, right now," he growled, when no one moved.  
  
"Hey, man," the passenger in the front seat said, "we just want our treat, here's the money." He waved some bills in front of Lincoln's face.  
  
"Veronica Donovan, get out of this car right now. You don't want me to yank you out."  
  
"Hey," the driver said, "she's with me."  
  
"The fuck she is," Lincoln said, walking around the car to wrench open the driver's side door. It was a 2-door car, so the only way to get to Veronica was through the driver's seat, and he obviously wasn't looking for a fight because he jumped right out of the car and let Lincoln move the seat forward so he could reach in and wrap his hand firmly around Veronica's upper arm.  
  
She screamed and kicked out at him, but he outsized her in both height and weight, and he was angry enough someone bigger or tougher than him wouldn't have made a difference anyway. "I don't want to get out of the car," she said, too late, since he already had her out and then, leaning back in, he grabbed her purse before wrapping his arm around her waist and hauling her up on the sidewalk with him. He flung a baggie of dope into the window and said, "This one's on the house, get out of here."  
  
Just then, some headlights came on, flashing to get their attention. Lincoln, who had been immersed in removing Veronica from the car, hadn't noticed a cop turn the corner of the street. He muttered a curse, looked down at Veronica's feet, which were strapped into some slinky high heels because she was dressed as a sex kitten, with a leopard skin outfit that was indecent for her to wear in public. She had black whiskers drawn on her face and her nose was black on the end as well. His eyes noticed the cat-ears headband she was wearing and was torn about ripping that off her body, too. Reaching down, he grabbed her left leg and jerked it up, flinging her shoe one direction as the car drove off. She sputtered, "Leave me alone, you son of a bitch!" as he ripped the shoe of her right foot.  
  
"You better keep up with me, brat, because that's a cop down there, and he just gave us a warning. Now, run."

 

 

 

  
They ran like hell. Lincoln all but dragged Veronica behind him, but she did her best to keep up with him and once he'd turned two corners, he ducked into a building that he had obviously been in before. She skidded to a stop behind him and dropped her hands to her knees, gasping for breath. She pulled the cat-ears from her head and slung them at him for the hell of it.  
  
When she had recovered somewhat, she raised her head to find him pacing a few feet from her. They were in some sort of abandoned warehouse, and the light from the full moon shone in through the broken rafters. His features were distinguishable, and she knew he was angry, but then, so was she.  
  
"So you sell drugs?" she demanded just as he turned to her and shouted, "What the hell are you thinking running around with assholes like that?"  
  
"That's none of your business!" Veronica responded.  
  
"Ditto, little girl."  
  
"If you get caught, and go to jail, what will happen to Michael? Have you thought about that? He'll go into Foster care."  
  
"I won't get caught."  
  
"Famous last words."  
  
"What were you doing with those guys, Vee? Gonna get high and do something stupid?"  
  
"So what if I was? As I recall, as long as I'm not sleeping with you or Michael, you're not interested."  
  
"That's not what I said."  
  
"Oh, good grief," she said, throwing up her arms. "Let's not split hairs here. You want to act like my father when it's convenient for you, fine, but you're not always going to be around."  
  
"I'm not acting like your father, I'm acting like your friend!"  
  
"I don't want to be friends with you!" Finally, the truth. Finally, she said what she'd wanted to say for ages. And in a rush of floodgates at long last released, she continued, "I want you. I want to be _with you_. But you don't want to be with me, so I found someone who did want to be with me, and what do you do? You screw that up, too!"  
  
He moved towards her, and she felt real fear. Lincoln, maybe a little taller than the average guy, could be imposing when he wanted to be, but it was the way he carried himself, and the look that spread over his face that gave him power. He could intimidate the hell out of anyone. She backed up and stepped in something slimy. "Oh, gross," she breathed, looking down to see an oil spot. Her bare feet were already filthy, but now they were sticky and uncomfortable.  
  
"Come on, we're only a few blocks from my apartment. The least I can do is clean you up, since I made you lose your shoes," his voice had softened considerably.  
  
She looked up at him, but his expression was devoid of emotion. He was no longer scaring her, but he wasn't acting normally either. "I've never been to your house before," she said quietly.  
  
"Well, don't get used to it, this is a one time offer."

 

 

 

  
The wind picked up as they walked into the Projects on the east side of Chicago. Lincoln reached for her hand, he told himself, to make sure she was protected. It was bad enough she had to walk through this part of town in bare feet, though he had made her put his jacket on so she was somewhat covered up. Her luscious legs were covered by black net stockings that made his mouth water, but he wasn't going to look at her anymore, just get her inside the house, cover her up, clean her up and then take her home. Her hand felt small in his, like it didn't fit, and that was a good thing that reminded him how young she was. She was generations behind him, and that had nothing to do with age. He was being a good friend and taking care of her. He was helping her get through one more night where she didn't make a huge mistake. There were thousands in her future, he was sure, but for this one night he was helping. And he sure as hell wasn't going to be one of the mistakes.  
  
She shifted closer, and her hand that wasn't already swallowed by his curled around his bicep, holding his arm close her body. Her head snuggled into the hard muscle there and he let her because they were almost to his house. "Did you see Michael at the party?" he asked.  
  
"Yeah, he was there."  
  
"Was he coming home any time soon?" _Please, God, if you're there, help me out._  
  
"I didn't ask him. I didn't let him see I was leaving because I thought he might react similarly to this, only of course without the man-handling."  
  
"Don't get me started on how freaking lucky you are it was me you ran into."  
  
"Yeah," she muttered, "Freaking lucky."  
  
"Here it is," he said, leading her into the building that he and Michael lived in with 200 other people. "Seventh floor. No elevator."  
  
"Oh, great. You know, I paid good money for those shoes. I should make you reimburse me."  
  
"I paid good money for that weed, so let's just call it even."  
  
"I didn't ask you to _save_ me."  
  
"That's because you don't know what's good for you."  
  
When she tried to yank her hand from his, he tightened his grip. She pulled hard and they twisted, grappling on the landing of the first set of stairs leading to the second floor. Before Lincoln knew what had happened, he had her between the wall and his body. Instantly he dropped her hand and backed away, but she reached up, her arms going around his neck. "Why don't you show me what's good for me?" Her voice had dropped to a sultry whisper and all he wanted was to back her up against the wall and give her what she was asking for. Instead, his hands rose to circle her wrists, but she held on with surprising strength, and his body reacted before he could get any distance between them. Her eyes widened, and the dim overhead bulb gave him just enough light to see the awareness blossom in their murky depths. "Lincoln," she whispered, her gaze traveling to his mouth in a plaintive plea.  
  
"This is not what you want," he said, strangling on the words.  
  
"Yes, it is, and it's what you want." She moved against him and he locked his jaw in an effort to control the sounds bubbling up in his throat. "Lincoln," she whispered again, straining her body to get closer to his face. "I love you."  
  
He closed his eyes and dragged her hands down from his neck. "No." And because it was all he could think of, he said it again with great force. " _No!_ " He dropped her hands, turned and jogged up the stairs. If she followed him, he'd do what he'd brought her there to do, if she didn't, he'd take a cold shower and then jump in his truck and follow her home.  
  
She followed him.  
  
By the time he got to his apartment door, she was only 20 yards behind him, so he waited for her. Standing there in the darkness, he nearly jumped out of his skin when a creaking door opened and a neighbor looked into the hallway before quickly shutting the door again. Lincoln was tense and edgy, and since she obviously was coming into his apartment, he ought to take a cold shower, then clean her up and take her home.  
  
Who was he kidding? He should never have brought her here at all.  
  
When she finally caught up with him, he unlocked the door and walked in. Flipping on the light, he pointed to the bedroom. "Bathroom's through there," he said. "Let's get you cleaned up."  
  
She walked ahead, silently. He stood by the door for a few minutes, counted to a hundred, willing his body to calm down. He could do this. He could take care of her and get her home, untouched. He could do it. He _would_ do it. When he finally walked into the bathroom, she had taken off her ruined stockings and with them her Halloween costume. Wrapped up in a bath towel—in his bath towel—she stood in the tub and turned the water on to wash her feet. "Damn," he muttered.  
  
She looked over her shoulder at him. "I left your jacket on the bed," she said softly. She sat down on the edge of the tub and started scrubbing at the grime on the bottom of her feet. He turned around and went back into the bedroom to get a shirt for her. He found one of his work shirts, a clean, blue button-up, and took back it into the bathroom with him.  
  
He sat down on the toilet, right behind her so he could see what she was doing. "Is your foot bleeding?" he asked. It looked like something red was dotting the soft pad of flesh under her toes.  
  
"A little bit," she said. "Nothing serious." She finished quietly, not trying to engage him in more verbal sparring, and not particularly paying him any attention.  
  
"Vee..." he said, his hand hovering over her shoulder. He wanted to move her hair back and put his lips on the soft skin of her neck, but he didn't. Instead he dropped his hand and didn't touch her at all.  
  
"What?" she whispered, not looking at him.  
  
"I'm sorry," he said. "I'm not—you'll realize, when you get older, you'll see that this is not—"  
  
"Shut up."  
  
"I'm serious, you'll—"  
  
"Shut up," she cried, twisting the faucet off. "You can boss me around, you can tell me no, Lincoln, but you do _not_ get to tell me how I feel." As she tried to stand up and get out of the tub, she took a tumble right into his lap, but she righted herself and got on her feet. His hands were outstretched, shadowing her body but not touching her when she said, with tears breaking through, "I know how I feel. Right now I don't know why I love you, when you're such a jerk, but I know that I do, and I'm not going to listen to you tell me why I shouldn't."  
  
He stood up suddenly, towering over her and his hands clamped on waist. Fingers sinking into terry cloth, emotions out of control, he pulled her to him, intending to kiss her for all he was worth. He _was_ a jerk, he was the worst kind, because in his heart he knew he'd brought her here for this, to hold her close and use her body, and her offering of love just seemed to make it all the more desirable. If Veronica loved him...maybe. Maybe, he was worth something. Her eyes were wet, and as tears trickled down her cheeks, he somehow found the strength to put her away from him. "Here," he said offering her the shirt. "Put this on. I'll see if Michael has any sweats or something that might fit you."  
  
He left her in the bathroom and went to the closet in the bedroom. It was in complete disarray as one might expect of two young men living without any women. He stood there, staring sightlessly at the clothes, both his and Michael's. Almost out of control, he could feel the blood thrumming through his body, ignited by everything about her: her eyes, her legs, her whispered words, the promise of what it would be like if he touched her. He knew it would be good, so good, because he wanted to make it that way. He wanted to show her how he could make her body sing, and teach her to make his...he looked over his shoulder just in time to see her finish buttoning the shirt he'd given her. It nearly touched her knees, and engulfed her body to the point of ridiculousness. He had never noticed how much bigger he was than her. She wiped tears from her cheeks with the sleeve.  
  
It appeared on the horizon of his brain as suddenly as the light comes on when you flip the switch. The hair on the back of his neck stood up and he knew. He knew he could love her, the way he'd made sure he never loved anyone. The only people he'd ever let matter to him—his mother and Michael—because everyone else could leave in the dark of night, or just not do what they said they would do. No, he had decided very young not to count on anyone, or get close enough to anyone so that they could disappoint him. It differed with Veronica, and he had kept her at a distance because he feared he would do to her what he had been done to him. It wasn't because she would leave him or disappoint him. Even when she got older, it would have become such a habit, she would stay. She would always be there. "Vee, why would you love a guy like me?" The question surprised him as much as it did her.  
  
She looked over at him, a small, tragic smile curving her lips. "Because you have a good heart. You don't even know it, Lincoln. You think you're this bad guy, but you aren't. You can't know, you don't see yourself the way other people do. But I see everything you do, and I know you do it for Michael because you love him. I've watched you most of my life be a father, a friend, a brother, in every sense of the word." It seemed as if she'd been waiting to answer that question for a long time. "I'm not a child, not anymore." She moved towards him, and he turned away from the closet, forgetting that she needed more clothes to cover her up. "I know my life and your life are very different from each other. But I do what I can to help you, Linc. Haven't you ever noticed that? I just want to make it a little easier for you." She stopped in front of him, tilting her head back to catch his eyes with hers. "I want to make...you happy."  
  
It was the simplest thing in the world, something he never thought about because what did happiness really mean anyway? He and Michael were together, they had enough food (usually) and a roof over their heads, and what more could he expect? A willing woman from time to time and something mind-altering to ease the discomfort occasionally, and that was it. But here was this woman-child, and she wanted to give him ease all the time. With her heart, with her hands, with her lips. She stretched up on tiptoe and placed her mouth on his, lightly, teasingly.  
  
This time he did kiss her. With an open mouth and his need undisguised.  
  
Her arms snaked around his neck again, holding on with a ferocious grip, as if he might get away. His hands went up inside the shirt he'd watched her button, running his hands all along the body that had been driving him crazy for far too long. Gone were the images of an angry father with a shotgun, gone were the reminders that she was too young, or even that he could never be good enough for her. All that was left was his need for her and his wish that love, from its simplest to most complex definition, would be enough to fill the empty places in his heart and soul.  
  
By the time they got to the bed, the shirt's buttons had been demolished and Veronica had managed to strip Lincoln's shirt off of him, too. When their bare skin met, she whimpered and he growled, and then their mouths fused together again.  
  
Distantly, Lincoln heard a sound from the front of the house, but the blood roaring in his ears prevented it from penetrating his conscious mind. All he could feel, smell, taste was Veronica, and that was exactly how he wanted it to be. When her fingers dipped into the front of his jeans, it slowed him down marginally. Then she tugged on the snap, his head came up and their eyes met. Her cat make-up was smeared all over her face, and he laughed a little as he wiped some of it off. Her tears had washed some of it away, but a lot of it had been spread around by his lips and his fingers against her skin. She smiled in return, knowing what he saw, because her fingers reached up and wiped some from his cheek as well. "Oops," she breathed, giggling wildly.  
  
He pressed his forehead to hers and reached for the hand that was still lingering at the waistband of his jeans. "Vee, have you done this before?" he asked, his breath heavy and hot and coming much too fast.  
  
She bit her lip and shook her head, dislodging his own so that he raised it up to look into her eyes. Her fingers were still touching his face and she whispered, "Don't stop, Lincoln. I want you to do it. Please," she leaned up and pressed her lips to his again.  
  
"Like I'd stop now," he muttered, and then she smiled a smile far beyond her years and reached for the front of his jeans again, but he stilled her action. "No, I better keep my pants on for awhile, at least long enough to get you completely ready. I don't want to hurt you more than necessary." He took a deep breath and looked into her eyes, hoping to convey all that it meant to him. "Because it's gonna hurt, baby," he whispered, kissing her temple and then her ear.  
  
"I want you to do it," she repeated, her hands busy caressing his bare chest.  
  
Just then, something made of glass broke as it fell in the kitchen, bringing them both upright. Veronica's face filled with color and she whispered, "Michael's home."  
  
Lincoln got off the bed quickly. "Don't go anywhere. I'll get rid of him." Then he came back to the bed, kissing her passionately until she was clinging to him again. "Don't move," he said forcefully.  
  
She shook her head and pressed her lips with her fingers, as if savoring him. He felt an actual motion in his chest, like his heart was expanding. Turning, he hurried into the front of the house to get Michael to leave, just for a few hours.  
  
But it wasn't Michael standing in his kitchen; it was Lisa Rix.  
  
"Hello, Lincoln," she said, and it was obvious she'd been crying.  
  
"Lisa? Uh—oh man," he ran a hand haphazardly through his hair. "What are you doing here?" They hadn't seen each other in a couple weeks, mostly because Lincoln had stopped calling or going by her place.  
  
"We need to talk," she said, and she gestured towards the bedroom. "I'm sorry to interrupt, whatever you've got going on in there."  
  
"Can't this wait?" he asked, his eyes following her pointing fingers. "I'll come by and see ya tomorrow, okay?" He had never seen Lisa cry, and it made him more uncomfortable than just about anything else ever had. They weren't friends, exactly, but he wasn't completely heartless where she was concerned either. "Are you okay?" he asked, even though he hoped she would tell him whatever the problem was could wait until the next day.  
  
"No," she said, taking a deep breath. "I'm not okay, Linc. I'm pregnant."

 

 

 

 

  
Veronica sat alone on the front porch. Today was her birthday, and two days had passed since Halloween. Two days since she'd been as close to Lincoln as she'd ever wanted to be only to have him back out at the last minute. She hadn't known the woman who had shown up with her unhappy news, but Lincoln hadn't questioned that it was in fact his baby, which had hurt Veronica's heart more than anything else. Of course, she knew when he asked her if it was her first time it certainly wasn't his first time, but she didn't think she'd have to confront someone in the next room who had been his _last_ time. It had left a ball of dread in her stomach, and a few minutes later when Michael turned up, Lincoln had given him the car keys and made him take Veronica home.  
  
She had thought of nothing else all day Saturday, and her final conclusion was Lincoln could have a baby with someone else, but he could still be her boyfriend. She knew it would be odd, and they'd have a lot to work out, not to mention hide it from her father, at least until she was 18, but it didn't matter. She loved Lincoln. And she thought maybe he might love her. And he had intended to make love to her, an event she was bitterly disappointed hadn't happened.  
  
So today was her birthday, and her father and gone out to buy a cake, because he didn't know to make one; she had thought about calling Michael and Lincoln and inviting them over, but that had seemed too juvenile given the situation. She needed to come up with a strategy to make sure Lincoln didn't use this whole baby thing as a way of backing off from her. She wasn't going to lose the ground she'd gained just two nights before. While she idly pushed herself in the porch swing and contemplated what she would do and say, the object of her affection pulled to a stop in front of her house. He got out of his pick-up slowly, and she was thrilled to see him pull out a small bouquet of roses. Pretty pink roses, wrapped in plastic.  
  
He walked up to porch steps and silently handed her the flowers. She smiled at him, feeling her world magically right itself. "You're forgiven," she said, standing up to kiss him.  
  
"Not so fast, Vee," he said, his hand on her arm. He pushed her back into the swing and sat down next to her. "Happy birthday," he said softly.  
  
"Thank you," she said, burying her nose in the flowers. "But I'd like a kiss, please," she said after she pulled her face from the sweet-smelling bouquet. She leaned over and puckered up, closing her eyes.  
  
She felt his thumb brush her bottom lip, but she stubbornly kept her eyes closed until he leaned in and brushed his lips lightly to hers. It was so fleeting it almost hadn't happened, but when she tried to prolong the contact, he pushed her gently back. "Vee," he said, and she knew the tone too well.  
  
"No, Lincoln. We aren't going back. Things have changed forever between us, and I'm not going to let you act like they haven't!" She stared hard into his eyes, trying to impart the urgency she felt.  
  
"Things have changed, that's for sure," he replied, scrubbing a hand through his hair. It was then that she noticed he needed a shave, and he looked haggard, as though sleeping had been removed from his personal habits.  
  
She jumped right on the cause of that. "I don't care about the other girl, Lincoln. I'm not mad, really, I'm not! So you're going to be a dad, I mean, it's not exactly what you had planned, but it'll be okay. It'll be kinda fun, don't you th—"  
  
She stopped when the utter disbelief in his eyes registered. "I can't afford a baby, Vee. Look at how Michael and I already live! How can I give him the things he needs with a baby who will need a lot more? The last thing I'm worried about is whether you're upset because I knocked some chick up."  
  
She drew up short, and then looked back at the flowers in her hands. "Okay," she said, "so, we'll figure it out. I'll help you, I'll get a job too, and we'll..."  
  
"Stop it," he said, shaking his head. "What did I come here for?" he said, his voice dropping so much that she almost didn't hear him. "You're a kid, you're a kid and there's no way out of this for me."  
  
"I'm not a kid, Lincoln. No!" She threw the flowers down on the porch and grabbed his shirt in big handfuls. "Lincoln, I can help. I'm not a kid. Lincoln, I love you! I love you, and I'll do whatever I have to do to make this better for you. I will, I promise," she cried, unaware of the tears that had started to run down her face.  
  
His expression softened, and his hand touched her glistening cheek for one small moment. "You can help me, Vee, by listening to me." He paused and then dropped her gaze for a second. "Damn, this is the hardest thing...look," his eyes came back to hers. "I'm getting married."  
  
Veronica had no response. It didn't make any sense.  
  
"Lisa and I are getting married next week. We can qualify for assistance as a family, and..." he trailed off, as though whatever else he might say would only pale in comparison.  
  
"You can't..." she began. "You can't marry her, you don't love her." That was the only thing Veronica knew for certain.  
  
"It's my baby. And I'm not ever going to be much, but the least I can be is a dad to this kid. I've got to do better than..." again he didn't finish, and Veronica knew now.  
  
A broken heart felt like this.  
  
Not when he rejected her, not even when she heard— _Lisa? was that her name?_ —say she was pregnant. None of it could compare with this feeling, the absolute knowledge that he had made up his mind and nothing was changing it.  
  
She knew he had come to say goodbye.  
  
"You brought me flowers...to tell me you're getting married?" she asked, stupefied. She looked down at the flowers on the porch and she wanted to jump up and down on them until they were as broken and bloodied as her insides felt.  
  
"I brought you flowers because it's your birthday." His fingers tucked under her chin and brought her face around to his. "And because it's the last time I'll be able to do anything like that for you. I'm sorry, Vee. Really I am. It just proves what I've known all along—this could never work."  
  
Her whole body started shaking, she could feel tremors everywhere, in her lips, in her stomach, her arms and legs all felt watery. He leaned in and kissed her gently, as if to still the trembling. It was the sweetest and saddest kiss she'd ever had. He pulled back, his eyes tracing the lines of her face. "You shouldn't kiss me like that," she said inanely.  
  
"No, I shouldn't," he agreed. But he kissed her again, his lips soft, apologetic. Then he stood up and walked off the porch. She didn't watch him get into the truck and drive out of her life; the metaphor was too plain and too painful.


End file.
